


Five Bad Ideas Eric Foreman Had (Because Someone Distracted Him)

by AndreaLyn



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House: I'm gonna keep her around <i>because</i> she makes me an idiot?<br/>Wilson: Well you're protected. Foreman seems immune.<br/>House: You think he's gay?<br/>Wilson: Did he become an idiot around Chase?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Bad Ideas Eric Foreman Had (Because Someone Distracted Him)

“Stomach cancer,” he’d supplied authoritatively with a nod, his eyes not on the whiteboard, but who needed them there when he had the idea. There was dead silence in the ensuing diagnosis and Foreman gave Cameron and House a long look. “What, you don’t think it…”  
  
“Except the stool test was negative for it,” Chase supplied, hiding that stupid smirk he had with the test result, as if a single sheet of paper was going to hide his smugness. Considering Foreman had been concerned with the way Chase kept sipping at his coffee before he'd offered that diagnosis, that it was  _wrong_  was completely his fault.   
  
See, Chase couldn’t exactly drink a sip of coffee without tiny droplets of the liquid going from the rim of the cup and onto his bottom lip. And he just  _had_  to dart his tongue out, press it to his lower lip and lick there in that slow, seductive manner, like there was a specific slow-motion button, just for his tongue.   
  
So Foreman had been looking at a tongue against well-shaped, pink lips and that had been about the time he’d blurted out stomach cancer. And now, Chase was still smirking at him, Cameron was launching into an argument for auto-immune, and House was eyeing Foreman with an incredulous glower.   
  
*  
  
“This is getting ridiculous,” Foreman announced one night in bed. He had spent the day testing for a disease that the patient had been vaccinated for, but because he had believed the history, five hours were lost. Five  _hours._  
  
Eric Foreman had lost five hours of his time because Chase had to be sitting in the next room with the light cascading onto his hair and making him look all the part of a chaste, innocent angel and Doctor Eric Foreman, respected neurologist, couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways to defile that chastity he’d built up in his head; he kept thinking about how many ways existed to mess up that pretty, perfect hair.  
  
Which was why their patient, already vaccinated for the disease, was put through a battery of tests to see if she might be that point-zero-one percent that had a mutated strain.  
  
At least, that was Foreman’s logic.   
  
Chase could not make him lose his game so badly.  
  
*  
  
“You MRI’ed her right arm!” House was shouting, as loud as he got, pushing the films in Foreman’s face as he wandered into the office, first thing in the morning. He hadn’t even had a chance to take off his coat and hat and there he was, verbally assaulted. A deep, long sigh, and a mental count to ten later, he took the films from House to study them carefully.   
  
“It looks clean,” he evaluated with a professional nod, arranging himself in his chair at the desk.  
  
“Of  _course_  it looks clean!” House was still bellowing, leading Foreman to wonder if Cuddy (or Wilson) had switched House’s mug for decaf and his Vicodin for tic-tacs.   
  
Foreman just smiled that same placating one he always gave to House when he was being completely ridiculous about something and looked up from his files, spreading his hands calmly and patiently. “So?”  
  
“I told you to do the left one,” House snapped, tossing the films down before limping out.  
  
 _Shit_.  
  
He should have known it was a mistake to have that quick go with Chase in the closet in the middle of the day.  
  
*  
  
Something that had sounded perfectly logical and perfectly simple coming out of Chase’s mouth had garnered an appreciative nod from Foreman as he considered the theory, which just happened to be paraneoplastic syndrome, caused by bone cancer to explain the seizures.   
  
He couldn’t help to just check with Cameron’s reaction before he nodded though.   
  
Lucky for him, she gave him the ‘yes, it’s smart’ look, combined with the ‘don’t be such an idiot’ look and the ‘I can handle Chase’s prettiness on my own’, all wrapped in one dry glare.  
  
*  
  
In the end, the worst idea of them all was the one that made the greatest impact on his professional and personal life. This was the Big One, the one that was going to make all future days harder than the ones that came before and Dr. Eric Foreman was going to face them head-on as bravely as he could.  
  
No matter how ridiculous his work ideas would become.   
  
“Seriously,” Chase asked, greeting Foreman after a long day. He was sitting on the stone steps outside of Foreman’s majestic townhome – because that was the only adjective that felt worthy of the place. “I mean, really and seriously,” he stressed sarcastically in that annoying Australian accent that got thicker and even more annoying at times. “How did you miss epilepsy in the family history?”  
  
Foreman didn’t even deign to look him in the eye as he unlocked the front door and let the both of them in.  
  
“That was a seriously stupid ide…”  
  
“Chase,  _shut up_.”  
  
The door was slammed and the topic ended.   
  
Foreman was a very, very stupid genius of a man was all there was to it, in the end.


End file.
